


Warming The Air Of The World

by whoknows



Series: fae [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Fae & Fairies, Fights, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 13:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: “Are you ready?” Harry calls up the stairs, resisting the urge to go up and see for himself. Louis had been insistent that they get ready separately.Upstairs, something crashes. Harry rolls his eyes, listening to Louis’ low muttered cursing as he pulls his boots on. It’d be nice if Louis’ magic was able to fix all the things he’s broken over the last year. He’s still trying to adjust to living in a permanent place, and he’s still pretty careless about the way he touches things.“Yes,” Louis hollers back, but it’s no coincidence that Harry’s second boot goes skittering back into the living room before he can put it on. Harry rolls his eyes again and doesn’t bother to go chasing after it, plopping himself down onto the couch instead and picking up his book from the coffee table.Fifteen minutes later, he doesn’t realize that Louis is standing in front of him until his book gets ripped out of his hands and tossed over Louis’ shoulder. “I’m ready to go now,” he announces.Harry’s mouth twists a little at the sight of him, considering. “Where’s your costume?”





	Warming The Air Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is just a short little something in honour of Halloween. It's set in the verse of Boiling Blood Will Circulate. Enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

Louis has been upstairs for the past two hours. Nothing has been knocked over or shattered for the past forty-five minutes or so, though, so Harry isn’t too concerned. There’s a part of him that thinks maybe he should be – this will be Louis’ first Halloween, after all – but at the end of the day Louis is going to do what Louis is going to do, and Harry isn’t going to be able to stop him.

He’s just hoping that Louis will pick out a reasonable costume. The last time they were in Elmsbrook they passed a costume shop with a sexy nurse’s outfit displayed in the window, and there had been a gleam in Louis’ eye Harry hadn’t liked the look of. He couldn’t tell whether Louis had been looking at it for himself or for Harry. Not that it would have really mattered in the long run.

“Are you ready?” Harry calls up the stairs, resisting the urge to go up and see for himself. Louis had been insistent that they get ready separately.

Upstairs, something crashes. Harry rolls his eyes, listening to Louis’ low muttered cursing as he pulls his boots on. It’d be nice if Louis’ magic was able to fix all the things he’s broken over the last year. He’s still trying to adjust to living in a permanent place, and he’s still pretty careless about the way he touches things.

“Yes,” Louis hollers back, but it’s no coincidence that Harry’s second boot goes skittering back into the living room before he can put it on. Harry rolls his eyes again and doesn’t bother to go chasing after it, plopping himself down onto the couch instead and picking up his book from the coffee table.

Fifteen minutes later, he doesn’t realize that Louis is standing in front of him until his book gets ripped out of his hands and tossed over Louis’ shoulder. “I’m ready to go now,” he announces.

Harry’s mouth twists a little at the sight of him, considering. “Where’s your costume?”

Louis is wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Granted, they’re a lovely pair of jeans and a nice t-shirt, clothes that Harry bought for him, but they’re by no means a costume.

“Humans are stupid, they’ll think this is my costume,” Louis says, flicking a few fingers in Harry’s direction. “Come on, I want to try this pumpkin carving thing before they’re all gone.”

It’s been something that settles deep and warm in Harry’s chest, the way Louis separates him from the rest of the humans. Harry can’t actually tell whether Louis doesn’t think of him as human or if he just doesn’t think Harry is as stupid as other people, and he’s definitely not going to ask.

His boot comes sliding back along the floor to him. Harry takes the hint for what it is and pulls it on. “As long as you’re sure that you don’t want to actually dress up.”

To be honest, Harry doesn’t really think anything of Louis’ lack of costume choice until they’re crossing the street just outside Niall’s house. It’s what he wants, and Harry doesn’t need to have any input into that.

Except there’s a group of particularly inebriated guys hanging around, watching them walk, and one calls out, “Aw, look at the little fairies,” mocking and loud.

It’s an insult. Of course it’s an insult. It is, however, so much more of an insult than any of those guys realize.

Louis’ back goes stiff. He stops in his tracks, in the middle of the street, and slowly turns to face the group.

“Shit,” Harry mutters under his breath. He tries to make a grab for Louis’ elbow and misses.

“I’m sorry, would you care to repeat that to my face?” Louis asks, voice gone as cold as that thing he does when he’s injured.

This time, Harry succeeds in grabbing Louis’ arm. “Louis,” he hisses, trying to pull Louis away. Louis doesn’t budge, but he also doesn’t shake Harry off.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me, little dude?” the guy asks, pushing himself away from the wall he’s been leaning against.

Harry sighs, more to himself than out loud. “Don’t hurt him too much,” he warns Louis, squeezing his elbow. He’s tried, in the past, to prevent Louis from engaging in these situations at all, but he’s never actually been successful about it. And if there’s anyone who deserves what’s coming to him, it seems to be this guy.

The guy takes a step in their direction and immediately trips, face planting into the sidewalk with a hard smack Harry can hear from across the street. He winces a little, trying to pull Louis towards him. 

“Sure, I’ll fight you after the pavement finishes kicking your arse,” Louis calls to the guy, a thousand times more mocking than the guy’s tone had originally been, just a hint of maniacal laughter lurking underneath the surface of it. He leans back into Harry’s touch, smug contentment radiating off of him, before he starts walking again.

Harry chases after him before the guy or one of his friends can get up, falling into step beside him. “Did you magically tie his shoes together?”

“I may or may not have tied his shoes together,” Louis responds, stretching his fingers out in Harry’s direction and wiggling them. Harry takes the hint for what it is, lacing their fingers together.

That actually came as a surprise, to be honest. Louis really likes holding hands. He’s usually the one to instigate it, even. It seems to be one of the more human traditions he actually enjoys.

Or maybe he’s just been so touch starved for most of his life that he’ll take whatever he can get. Harry tries not to dwell on that possibility.

“One day you’re going to mess with someone who doesn’t give up as easily as that idiot,” Harry says, yanking the building door open and ushering Louis through before the guy can change his mind and chase them.

“I hope so,” Louis says dreamily, heading towards the lift. He’s probably thinking about all the tricks he’d like to play on an unsuspecting human, some more harmful than others. Even after a year of living with Harry, completely ostracized from his kind, Louis still has a vicious streak running through him that doesn’t show any signs of changing.

Harry chooses not to answer. There’s been a lot to get used to over the last year, and they’re both still struggling with it at times, but Louis’ urge to fuck with people who honestly have it coming could be a lot worse.

When they exit the lift on the fourth floor, Niall’s party is already going in full swing. The music can be heard all the way down the hallway, and there’s people spilling out from his flat, drinks in hand and costumes mussed. Harry doesn’t bother with knocking, pushing open the door and entering. 

He feels Louis’ fingers against his back before they’ve even finished crossing the threshold. They’re on the cold side, but not chilling, a sign that he’s not entirely at ease here. He has a deep distrust of humans that he still tries to hide from Harry, and surrounded by them like this, it makes sense that he’s feeling a little bit anxious. It doesn’t matter that he’s literally magic – that distrust was instilled in him from the time he was born, and it runs deep.

It doesn’t take long to find Niall, in the kitchen, mixing drinks for a gaggle of people. He’s dressed as a leprechaun this year, apparently giving into Irish stereotypes. Maybe he thinks it’ll get him laid.

“Tommo!” Niall crows, abandoning his drink-making and wiggling his way through the crowd until he can throw his hands onto Louis’ shoulders, gripping him tight. “C’mon, I saved a few pumpkins especially for you.”

He leads Louis away without even bothering to greet Harry. He’s one of the few people other than Harry who know the truth about Louis, and ever since Harry told him the full story he’s been fascinated by it. He always ends up showering Louis with attention whenever they come around, and try as Louis might to hide it, he enjoys every second of it. There’s trust between the two of them that Harry kind of wishes he was more jealous of. 

It took Louis three months to tell Niall his real name, though. Harry will never know how long it would have taken him to tell it to Harry if it hadn’t been spoiled by his people, but he thinks it would have been much less than that.

Harry takes over the drink-mixing, much to the crowd’s delight. It’s barely even nine o’clock – he really doesn’t understand how everyone seems to be this drunk already. Maybe he’s just getting old.

He keeps as much of an eye on Louis as he can while he’s in the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, he spots a few more minor mishaps during that time. He never actually manages to catch Louis doing it, but there’s no doubt that he’s using his magic to knock people together, trip them, and send their drinks splashing all over them. There’s no way that this many people are that clumsy.

Harry’s in the middle of cutting up more citrus for garnishes when a girl he vaguely recognizes come sauntering up to him, cocking her hip as she leans against the counter at Harry’s side. “Brad’s very funny,” she comments.

“Brad?” Harry echoes thoughtlessly, more focused on the knife in his hand than what she’s saying.

“Yes, Brad,” she says, frowning. “Your husband?”

Oh. Harry can never keep track of what name Louis is telling people on any given day. It’s gotten him into trouble more than once. “Yeah, Brad’s great,” Harry agrees, rolling his eyes at his cutting board. Brad, really? All the names in the world and Louis has chosen Brad for tonight?

He doesn’t bother to correct her on the whole husband bit, either. Louis has been insisting lately that by fae tradition they’re married, but Harry’s pretty sure that he’s just fucking with him about that. Not a hundred percent, but pretty sure. 

“Right,” the girl says, still frowning a little, grabbing a drink before wandering away.

There’s a loud crash in the living room. Harry looks towards it instinctively, knife stilling in his hand. He doesn’t see Louis, but that’s not a reason not to suspect that the noise was his fault. Harry sets the knife down in the sink before he goes to investigate, wiping his hands absently on his pants, remembering too late that they’re doused in glitter.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters to himself, staring down at his glittery hands. Washing them wouldn’t do much in getting the glitter off, so he resigns himself to living with it and continues on his way.

Louis is standing in the middle of a group of people, telling some elaborate story. It’s completely made up, the story, but no one seems to be bleeding profusely or holding any limbs in awkward positions, so Harry relaxes a bit and steps up behind Louis, sliding a hand into his back pocket.

Eventually, the story ends. Harry hadn’t really been listening to it, carried away by the cadence of Louis’ voice. So it comes as a surprise when one of the people who had been standing in the group addresses him. “So, how did you two meet?”

Before Harry can even open his mouth, Louis is saying, “Harry shot me.”

Jesus Christ.

“At paintball,” Harry hastens to add. “I got him at a paintball game and he decided to break all the rules by emptying his gun at my face. Nearly got us both kicked out.”

Niall’s laughter is so loud he sounds like he’s wheezing. Harry ignores him and pastes his best smile onto his face, squeezing Louis’ arse with the hand he’s still got in his pocket. It’s meant to be a warning not to say anything else that’s completely ridiculous. In hindsight, it probably doesn’t come across that way.

“Yes,” Louis says. “He shot me. At paintball. And I made him fall in love with me by threatening to have his babies.”

_Jesus_ Christ. The one thing he’s choosing not to lie about tonight is how their relationship started?

“Do you think that maybe you could act like you’re not completely insane?” Harry mutters into Louis’ ear.

They’ve talked about this, is the thing. Many, many times over the past few months. Harry has told him repeatedly that saying things that make it clear he isn’t human is probably not the best idea. Louis, in turn, usually just looks at him scornfully. He tends to make more of an effort than this, though.

“To be fair, he tried very hard to make those babies happen on our wedding night,” Louis continues, lifting a cup up to his mouth and taking a sip out of it.

Harry narrows his eyes. He’s pretty sure that Louis wasn’t holding a cup five seconds ago.

“So anyway, how did the pumpkin carving go?” Harry asks loudly, trying to derail the conversation. Louis shoots him a smirk over his shoulder, undeniably ethereal and pretty in this light. It’s kind of unfair, that he just looks like that all the time, a low-grade glitter to his skin that draws the eye.

“I made one of your face,” Louis tells him. “I’ll show it to you later.”

“He also gouged himself with the knife,” Niall interjects, looking at Harry from across the circle and wiggling two fingers slightly. Harry glances down, taking note of the gauze wrapped around Louis’ hand for the first time. There’s a few dots of red seeping through. Nothing to be concerned about, not really. Harry’ll still take a look at it later.

“It hurt?” he checks anyway, touching the gauze lightly. Louis has more or less turned to face him, both of them looking down at Louis’ hand. 

It’s why neither of them see it coming before the same girl from earlier is leaning forward to touch Louis’ face. “Your make-up is so good,” she’s saying, rubbing her fingers across Louis’ cheekbone like she’s trying to scrape it away, and Harry knows it’s coming but he’s too slow to stop it, watching as the girl goes flying backwards, landing on her arse on the floor.

Commotion breaks out just as fast. Louis has backed up into Harry’s chest, one hand still out in front of him. There’s people shouting, and Harry looks up just in time to see the drunk guy from outside taking a swing at Louis’ face.

Quickly, things get too crazy for Harry to keep track of. That one single action has started a riot, it seems like, and the best he can do is keep a hold of Louis, trying to pull him back, out of the fray. There’s a ringing in Harry’s ears that tells him he might have taken the punch instead of Louis, and he can hear Niall shouting something at him with a panicked look on his face, gesturing towards the door. It isn’t until he looks back at Louis that he realizes exactly what Niall is so concerned about – 

Louis’ fingertips have gone blue. It’s something Harry’s never seen before, and he has no idea what it means, but he knows it’s not something anyone else should be seeing.

“Fuck,” Harry says, half-shouting. He slams his arm across Louis’ chest and starts dragging him backwards, towards the door. Amid the chaos, no one seems to notice them.

Louis, for his part, doesn’t fight Harry on it. He doesn’t really make it easy, but Harry’s more than capable of supporting his weight as he pulls him down the hallway, and then down the stairs, forgoing the lift entirely.

The ringing in Harry’s ears doesn’t stop until he’s gotten them all the way out of the building and into a nearby park. It would have made more sense to get in the car, and he has no idea why he didn’t do that.

They fall to the ground together, Harry still clutching Louis to his chest. Louis hasn’t said anything the entire way down, not even to spit out any curses, and that more than anything says something is wrong.

“You’re bleeding,” Harry says, looking down at Louis’ chest, noticing it for the first time. There’s a three inch jagged tear in Louis’ shirt, soaked through with blood. It almost looks like it was made by a knife.

Holy shit, was it made by a knife?

“It’s fine,” Louis says dismissively, slumped in Harry’s lap. His skin hasn’t lost any of its sheen, still glimmering and soft, and when Harry forces his gaze downwards Louis’ fingers have gone back to their normal colour.

None of that really does anything to decrease the rough hammering of Harry’s heart. Louis has bled more than this in Harry’s arms, but there’s still enough of it that it’s impossible to ignore.

Like he can feel the unsteady beat of it, Louis sighs and jabs two fingers between Harry’s ribs, ice cold and draining. Harry hisses out a long, unsteady breath, slumping back against a tree trunk. It hurts, the way it always does when Louis does this, but before it can make him lose consciousness Louis is withdrawing his hand again, patting at his own chest where the wound is.

“There, all better,” he says. His fingers are sticky with blood that he wipes on Harry’s pants, probably ruining his costume beyond repair.

Harry’s laugh is a lot more rusty than he’d like to admit. Louis bleeding is never a sight he wants to see. Especially not when there’s a good amount of it. “Tell me that you didn’t get stabbed at a house party on Halloween.”

“I didn’t get stabbed at a house party on Halloween,” Louis parrots, twisting in Harry’s arms and shoving him down so he’s lying flat on the grass.

“It would have been nice if you could have sounded like you were telling the truth,” Harry tells him, unresisting as Louis reaches down to rub his palm over Harry’s cock, trying to coax him into getting hard.

He’s going to succeed. He always does.

“If it makes you feel any better, I slashed all the tires on his car,” Louis says, bending down so their faces are level.

“How did you know which car was his?” Harry wonders, sliding his hands up the backs of Louis’ thighs to palm at his arse, squeezing gently.

Louis hums, snapping the button of Harry’s pants open and fishing his cock out. “Does it matter?” he asks, curling his fingers around it. “I could give you all the details, but it’s almost the witching hour and you brought me to the trees. If we’re not gonna get off here you should have just brought me to the car.”

Well. When he puts it like that, Harry supposes that all that really matters is that Louis isn’t hurt. Niall will have dealt with the fight by now, and as bad as Harry feels for bailing, keeping Louis safe is always going to take precedence. He didn’t go through all that shit last year for Louis not to be.

“Okay,” Harry says, and the way Louis kisses him is nothing short of fierce and bitey. Harry gives it back to him just as hard, nearly knocking Louis off altogether as he struggles to get his jeans undone. There’s something about it that feels scorching and urgent, and it’s all he can do to get both of their cocks gathered up into his hand to start stroking.

Louis’ hand knocks against his, wet with lube, and Harry can’t tell whether he brought it with him or if he magicked it up. Either way, it makes him hiss out a noise, gripping Louis by the back of the neck and flipping them over before he can even think about it.

It feels even better when Harry’s on top, pinning Louis down to the ground and knowing all the while that Louis could send him hurtling fifty feet away if he didn’t want it like that. Their cocks slide together, a fast, furious grind, and Harry can already feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine.

“You’re so goddamn infuriating,” he hisses into Louis’ mouth, sweat dripping down his forehead from how hard he’s working them both over, “tryin’ to get yourself hurt or something? You have to be _careful_, you fucking dumbarse. I can’t lose you.”

Louis makes a soft, sweet noise, head dropping back against the grass. Harry ducks down to bite at his throat, laying a mark there that’ll take days to heal. 

“You’re not alone,” Louis says, fierce and furious, “You’ll never be alone, Harry, I’m always going to protect you just like you always protect me – ”

Harry comes so hard he thinks he might actually pass out from it. Just for a second or two before he’s blinking himself back, mouth still wet and open against Louis’ throat.

Moonlight glints off Louis’ face, peeking down through the canopy of tree branches above them. It’s nothing like the forest, this little park, but it’s enough that even Harry can feel the call of it, and he doesn’t even have fae blood in him.

Louis’ belly is splattered with Harry’s come, some on the hem of his shirt where it hadn’t been pushed up far enough. His cock is still lying flushed and hard against his belly, but he hasn’t made a move to do anything about it, blinking up at Harry with stardust in his eyes. Trapped under Harry’s body like this, he looks sweet and innocent, even though he’s anything but.

“I bled for you,” Harry whispers, letting go of his own cock to curl his fingers around Louis’, stroking him slow and firm. “Do you know what that means?”

Louis’ tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, leaving it spit slick and glistening. In a minute, Harry’s going to kiss him again, make him taste like Harry and only Harry. Louis doesn’t answer.

“It means that you’re _mine_, baby,” Harry tells him, slamming his mouth back down against Louis’ just in time to swallow his noises as he starts coming, arching up off the ground and into Harry’s hand.

He kisses Louis for as long as it takes for Louis to come back down from it, until Louis goes soft and pliant the way he only really gets after he’s come, completely boneless.

After a few more minutes, Harry sighs and rolls off Louis, landing beside him in the dirt. He keeps his palm settled in the center of Louis’ belly, just in case. 

“Next year we’re staying home on Halloween,” he says, staring up at the moon.

Louis props himself up onto an elbow, leaning over Harry and arching an eyebrow. “Next year I’m going to make Niall help me build a pumpkin sculpture that looks like you and drop it out the window.”

Well then. That’s settled, at least.


End file.
